It was lunchtime on a gray and unseasonably cold Friday with a touch of snow in the air. Our winter intern, Sherida, and I were heading to a business lunch with an account executive from the Fox TV network at Pietrasanta, a nearby restaurant at the corner of 9th Ave./46th St. As we walked the four blocks from our office at Worldwide Plaza (we worked at ad agency NWAyer) we noticed a plume of smoke rising in the distance from lower Manhattan. There was also a lot of noise from the blaring horns and sirens of fire trucks racing down the street.

After we returned from lunch I heard the news about a truck bomb exploding in the underground parking garage of the North tower of the World Trade Center and realized that was where the smoke was coming from. It was chilling to hear speculation that the goal of the bomb was to collapse the North tower and have it fall into the South tower. Unfortunately, as bad as this attack was (six died, more than 1,000 were injured), it was just a prelude to the horror of the attacks on 9-11.

When I was a kid we learned in school about "ghost" towns, which were once bustling towns in the West and Great Plains that popped up due to farming or the mining of natural resources. They thrived until the minerals were depleted or because of persistent drought and were then abandoned. This was also the fate of many factory towns in the Rust Belt in the last few decades of the 20th century. Now, in the 21st century, some neighborhoods in Manhattan are bringing to mind ghost towns as their stores and restaurants go out of business on an all-too-regular basis after landlords jack up their rents to unreasonable levels. Each day when I return home from work I brace myself for yet another "Space for Rent" sign in the window of a store I used to patronize.

To quantify the magnitude of these closings my friend Maury and I spent a recent weekend canvassing Greenwich Village and Chelsea to see for ourselves how pervasive the situation was, and we came across not 50, not 100, not 150, but 208 retail spaces that were closed. We found the omnipresent "For Rent" signs on fifteen streets, with the greatest concentration on Bleecker St., 8th St. and Christopher St. And if we had walked on every street in the West Village and Chelsea the number would likely have exceeded 250. While this is a disconcertingly high number, an article on the website DAN Info reported that the area with the most empty storefronts wasn't Greenwich Village, but SoHo and TriBeCa.

What's so troubling is that many of these vacant storefronts were businesses that served the residents of their neighborhoods - delis, laundries, shoe repair stores, and barber shops - only to be replaced by high-end retailers that cater to tourists. Some of these storefronts can stay empty for a year or longer (the spaces formerly occupied by Manatus restaurant on Bleecker St. and Barnes & Noble on Sixth Ave. have been vacant for more than two years), but landlords have no incentive to find new tenants in a timely fashion. In fact, it's considered a business loss which is a tax write-off. As these establishments sit empty, they detract from the quality of life of the streets they're located on (especially since there are multiple locations on each street). I feel rage boiling up inside of me when I walk by these eyesores knowing that the primary reason for them sitting empty is unrestrained greed.

A SAD GALLERY OF EMPTY STOREFRONTS

On Christopher St., the sign on the window reads "Trendy Retail", which is code for "rent is $25,000 per month".

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Stories about the Great Depression or the Dust Bowl era were often accompanied by a photo of a shuttered bank. However, this photo isn't from Nebraska, but the bustling corner of W. 14th St. and Sixth Ave. where HSBC boasted a once handsome branch office which has now sat empty for 18 months.

8th Avenue in Chelsea

Across the street from the Chelsea storefront above.

The corner of Sixth Ave. and Bleecker St. was briefly an American Apparel store. Before that it sat empty for a year after being a Banana Republic for many years.

On this door of a shuttered hair salon on W. 10th St. the owner has a message of thanks to customers. The salon had been in this location since 1997.

This site of a former restaurant is at the corner of Barrow and West 4th Streets and is across the street from my apartment. It has sat empty for two years.

This eyesore on W. 8th St. is just off tony lower Fifth Ave. Once a branch of HSBC Bank, it's been in this condition for years.

Nearly as ubiquitous as Starbucks, six Spa Belle's have been shuttered in Chelsea and the West Village due to a glut of competing nail salons.

The closing of a supermarket is always a concern for residents, especially one like Associated, known for its low prices. It had been an anchor on W. 14th St. for more than 25 years.

The retailer with the most square footage on Bleecker St. was Ralph Lauren's Polo store, but apparently the bragging rights were no longer worth the expense. On the window shoppers are directed to other stores in trendy neighborhoods: East Hampton, West Broadway and Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

Just one of 25 empty storefronts on 8th St. - only Bleecker St. has more.

This restaurant is east of Sixth Ave. Empty storefronts can be found in equal numbers regardless of which side of Sixth Ave. they're on.

I have enough photos to create a decent-sized Pinterest board. This empty store is on W. 14th St. between Fifth Ave. and Union Square.

Not all signs are fancy ones. This one is on the window of a former consignment store that had been at this Jones St. address for more than 30 years.

Some of my high school classmates back in Pittsburgh can't quite fathom the thought of living in Manhattan, but I thrive on the fast pace, and the perceived danger is a bit overblown. Sure, I've had some experiences with it but, thankfully, nothing serious. Since moving to New York City in 1981 I've been a victim of a crime six times. Five of the six occurred in the 1980s, and the last time was in 1998. Two of my apartments have been burglarized, my wallet has been lifted at work twice and I've been mugged and the victim of a scam one time each. (Truth be told, I've committed a number of "fashion crimes", but that's the subject for another post.)

April 1981 - At TriBeCa Apartment

This was my first apartment in NYC. It was in a loft space on Lispenard St. in TriBeCa that I shared with a husband, wife, baby and a vicious cat (whose name was 'Mouse'). The break-in occurred one month after I moved in. Although the door was locked, the prefabricated wall was knocked down to gain entrance. The loft was in a building that I was later told the landlord was trying to get renters out of the apartment and turn into a commercial building. My stereo was stolen along with four rolls of quarters that I hadn't had a chance to take to the bank. I moved out two months later (as did my loft mates).

July 1983 - At West 15th St. Apartment

Like the apartment in TriBeCa, this burglary also occurred one month after I moved into it. The apartment was on the ground flood and had a garden with a door, but the burglars entered through the front door, using tin snips to cut into the door, then putting their hand through the incision and unlocking the door from the inside. They stole a vacuum cleaner, our answering machine, some subway tokens and, inexplicably, ate a half grapefruit that was in the fridge, but what hurt most was their stealing of my boyfriend Rick's 35 MM camera,which had a roll of undeveloped film in it with pictures from Memorial Day weekend in Provincetown.

Later in the evening we got a call from the manager of the Lindy's restaurant across the street from Radio City Music Hall. Someone had tried to charge their meal using my Mastercard, which had been taken out of the pocket of my bathrobe (they were thorough).

May 1986 - At Jones St. Apartment

This was a scam rather than a burglary. And it occurred at the front door of my apartment building in Greenwich Village. A young man with a dog rang the doorbell and I answered. He told me that he lived on my street and was walking his dog and discovered that he had locked himself out of his apartment. Although his grandmother had a spare set of keys, she lived in Brooklyn and the young man didn't have money for cab fare. I gave him $15 and asked if he wanted to leave his dog with me but he said he couldn't because it was abused as a puppy and didn't take well to strangers. A few hours later it dawned on me that I'd likely been scammed and would never be repaid.

But to my surprise he returned, supposedly to repay the money I had loaned him. However, he only had a $100 bill and needed change to pay the taxi, which for some reason, was parked a few blocks away. This time I was onto him so I told him I'd break the $100 if the taxi came in front of my apartment building. Of course, this didn't happen. So, although I was still out $15 ($33 adjusted for inflation) I felt somewhat better knowing that my loss wasn't greater.

October 1988 - NW Ayer

On Halloween my wallet was taken from my suit jacket that was hanging behind the door in my office at ad agency NW Ayer. I had $200 in cash in it and ten credit cards (back then I had cards for department stores in addition to Visa). A few days later a colleague found the wallet jammed behind the toilet paper dispenser in a stall in the men's room. It was this incident that got me to start using an ATM card rather than take out money I'd need for the next few weeks.

December 1989 - Number 1 Subway

This is the only time I was physically robbed. After a doctor's appointment down in the West Village at lunchtime I went back to my office on W. 50th St. and took the Uptown Number 1 train. When I got into the car there were three teenagers sitting opposite me. One addressed me as Inspector Gadget because I was wearing a black trench coat. Shortly after the doors closed they came over and surrounded me, the ringleader sitting next to me on my right. He said I looked like I could easily spare my cash and if I didn't give it up I'd have to contend with the fellow standing to my left who had his hand in his coat pocket, suggesting there might be a weapon. Fortunately, I only had eight dollars on me. And I was very happy they didn't take my wallet. After they ran out at the W.23rd St. stop an elderly man sitting across from me chided me for giving them my money as they also tried to get some from him but he refused. When I got off at my stop I told the token clark (in the pre-MTA card era) and he called the police.

A month later later I was asked to come to to the Transit Police station in the Port Authority building on 42nd St. to look at photos ("mug shots"). When I told the officer that the perpetrator was white he came back with a rather thin book. When I expressed surprise he told me with a bit of a weary chuckle that all of the other binders on the shelves contained mug shots of blacks and Hispanics. I pointed to one guy but after he was contacted he claimed that at the time of the mugging he was attending a parole hearing with his father. Frankly, I was partly relieved because I wasn't certain the fellow I pointed out was actually the perpetrator.

March 1998 - Foote, Cone & Belding

Once again my wallet was lifted from the inner pocket of my suit jacket was hanging behind the door of my office (back in the era before "open architecture" work spaces). This time I only had $27 in the wallet and one credit card. Then a week later I got a call at home from a customer service person at Omnipoint Communications in eastern Pennsylvania who wanted to verify that I was ordering cellular phone service. When I told her I wasn't she then confided that she had someone on hold who was attempting this purchase using my credit card. She became suspicious because the person sounded like a "negro" (her word) and she thought it was strange that he'd have my last name.

Over the course of my career I've worked at nine different addresses, all in Midtown Manhattan, from 34th St., north to 58th Street, and from Third Ave., west to Eighth Ave. - an area covering all of 1.25 square miles. In the past ten years office floor plans with private offices have largely been eliminated in favor of "open architecture" layouts, with workers sitting side-by-side and facing each other (not unlike garment workers in Bangladesh, but instead of sewing machines we have laptops!). Of course, it's been an adjustment for those of us who worked in the private office era, but not as difficult a transition as I feared. And I have great memories of those offices, some of which afforded spectacular views. What follows is a list of those varied views - think of it as my office resume.

800 3rd Ave. (between E. 49th and 50th Streets)

My first office situation, which I shared with a co-worker, was on the 39th floor and looked south down Third Avenue. (1980-1981)

Here I am at 23, a junior media planner at ad agency Scali McCabe Sloves, and I had an office with a great view.

285 Madison Ave. (between 40th and 41st Streets)

Although taking a job at Young & Rubicam was a good career move, it was quite a step down from my previous job in terms of office and view. My office, a converted supply room, looked north onto E. 41st St. so there was little in the way of light. 285 Madison was an old building with windows that could be opened. (A few years before I moved to Y&R an account executive had jumped to his death.) Later I moved to an office on the other side of the building and my view looked south onto 40th St. I had light but not much of a view. (1981-1987)

1345 Ave. of the Americas (between E. 54th/55th Streets)

My office at ad agency NWAyer was on the 39th floor and looked south onto the roof of the Hilton across the street on 54th St. (1987-1989)

The view from the side of the floor looking north was far superior than mine, but I could stroll over to see it.

Worldwide Plaza (W. 50th St./Eighth Ave.)

NWAyer relocated from urbane Avenue of the Americas to this brand new 50-story skyscraper on the "frontier". This would be the furthest west of any of my work addresses. At the time the new neighborhood was a bit sketchy but my office on the 34th floor, which looked west over the Hudson River, afforded views of spectacular sunsets (and on hazy days the view of New Jersey was obscured). In the brutal winter of 1994 I had a great view of the ice-covered Hudson. In the last six months I worked there I moved into a spacious corner office on the building's southwest corner, but I often had to draw the shades because of the blinding afternoon sun. (1989-1995)

The Hudson froze over during the frigid January of 1994.

Those were the days ...

GM Building (Fifth Ave. between 58th & 59th Streets)/

150 E. 42nd St. (between Lexington & Third Avenues)

My first office at Foote, Cone & Belding was on the 18th floor and looked north onto 59th St. If I looked at an angle from my window I could see Central Park. Then a few months after I started we relocated to the old Mobil Building at 150 E. 42nd St. (across the street from the Chrysler Building). There I had three different offices, none with views that were noteworthy. (1995-2002)

Left the corner office behind for a sizable increase in salary - a fair trade-off.

3 Park Ave (34th St./Park Ave.)

This vied with Worldwide Plaza for the best views. There were no towering buildings obstructing the view in any direction (the Empire State Building loomed three blocks west, enhancing the view). My corner office on the 36th floor (for those keeping score, this was my second corner office) looked southeast so I got plenty of light all day. Fifteen months before I started at Carat the 9-11 attacks occurred and co-workers told me of the chilling view they had of the towers. I was working here on the day of the 2003 power blackout and had to walk down 36 flights of steps - without the aid of emergency lighting, which didn't work. (2003-2006)

The glare from the sun obscures the view through the window shades. (If only there were smartphones back then I'd have a whole album of the views!)

622 Third Ave. (between E. 40th and 41st St.)

26 years later I was back on Third Avenue, but eight blocks further south. This is the only office I had that looked east. I usually had the blinds drawn because of the morning sun, but in the late afternoon the sky could have a nice light pink and blue glow created as the sun was setting (especially in the winter months). The work environment at Universal McCann was the most toxic of any I'd experienced and my only respite was gazing out the windows. (2007-2008)

1540 Broadway (corner of W. 46th St.)

Working part-time for Viacom, this was the first time I worked in an office with open architecture, but I still had a spectacular view. Our building overlooked Times Square and my work space was situated in the southwest corner of the 23rd floor, offering me a view of the large electronic billboard on the building where the ball dropped on New Year's Eve. And the building's cafeteria had a great view overlooking the area around the TKTS booth. This was also the first office where I owned a smartphone so I was always snapping photos of the view. (2012-2014)

150 E. 42nd St. (between Lexington/Third Ave.)

This is my second time working in this building, but 13 years apart, and working for a different company (actually, it's Carat, the company I worked for at 3 Park Ave.) and with a different layout. I'm situated on the 12th floor, once again with open architecture. My department is situated on the southwest corner and the view looks down Lexington Ave. There are also windows that look east so there is light throughout the day. (2014 - present)

View from the 12th floor, looking up at the buildings on the corner of Lexington Ave. and E. 41st St.

The sun doesn't need to be shining for there to be interesting views. This photo was shot during the never-ending winter of 2015.

The first successful transplant of a human heart took place in South Africa on Dec. 3, 1967 (the recipient was 54-year-old Louis Washkansky). Whenever I hear mention of this medical milestone it brings back memories of a trifle of a Christmas play I appeared in when I was in the 5th grade. I played the role of the Christmas tree and I had a monologue in which I extolled the virtues of the tree. Rather than holding a little cardboard tree in front of me I insisted my mother create something elaborate, a tree that completely covered me. It was made out of a shimmering green material that resembled Astroturf, and then little cut-out ornaments were attached. While Mom was constructing it and fitting me I watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas. When I tried it on I felt like Charlie Brown's tree after it was transformed by his friends.

Thanks to my mother's creation I was the star of the play (much like the falling chandelier in the Phantom of the Opera). After the play was over (just one performance, mostly for the benefit of the student body) my teacher gushed to my mom about the tree and confided that she was just expecting me to stand behind a small hand-held paper tree. (Mom was flabbergasted.) She asked if the school could have the tree, but I wouldn't hear of it - and it languished in our basement never to be worn again. And for whatever reason no photographs were taken of me wearing it.

Back to matters of the heart, Mr. Washkansky died 18 days after his historical operation, from pneumonia. Just three days after his transplant the first pediatric heart transplant took place, in the US, on an 18-day-old infant (who lived for just six-and-a-half hours). And a month later the first adult transplant was performed in the US. That recipient lived for fifteen days.

I don't know what came over me, but the words just came out of my mouth. It was 1966 and I was in the third grade at Fenton Elementary School in the Pittsburgh suburb of McKees Rocks when my friend Diane casually told our teacher, Mrs. Shaw, that someone had tried to lure one of her brothers into his car. For whatever reason, perhaps because I noticed the attention Diane's statement generated, I blurted out that the same thing had happened to me - and suddenly the attention shifted. My mother was called as were the police. I provided a name (R. Ziegler) and a license plate number. No one thought it peculiar that a 9-year-old child was savvy enough to notice a license plate number, or that a kidnapper would reveal his last name.

In response a stakeout was organized. For a week a police officer sat in an unmarked car parked in a driveway on my block and I was instructed to walk home from school, alone, down the alley. I realized this was spiraling out of control but I was too scared to admit the truth. A few months later after it appeared my lie was dead and buried, we were in church when my mother saw the name Ziegler in the church bulletin and pointed it out to me. Thankfully, that would be the last time my fabricated story was mentioned.

My lie went undiscovered for about a dozen years. But then, as a sophomore at Penn State, my American History class was given an assignment to write a personal history. In mine I decided to come clean and reveal my fabricated kidnapping attempt. Then four years later, after I had moved to New York, my parents were going through my things as they packed them away and they came across my project. Of course, they were stunned at what they read. (They also discovered literature that suggested I was gay.)

Although my troubling fabrication didn't become a Crucible-like witch hunt, my first-hand experience made me very skeptical of accusations made by a child.

It's fascinating how smells can trigger memories from long ago - happy ones as well as bad (the same holds true with music). The eighteen that I've listed below were part of my 1960s/70s childhood in the town of McKees Rocks, Pennsylvania, a suburb of Pittsburgh along the Ohio River. They are so ingrained on my brain that just the mention of them activates my cerebral cortex and retrieves memories.

MAGIC MARKERS

The strong scent emitted from magic markers, which I was mostly exposed to at school, was highly intoxicating in small doses, but then I'd eventually develop a headache. I suppose this was my first experience with a hangover.

SERVICE WITH A SMILE

There was a time when gas stations were "full service," which meant that attendants pumped your gas and then pulled out their squeegee to clean the windshield and back window of the family car. They used a liquid in a bucket - or was it just water - that had a distinctive oil-based odor; although not as overpowering as the intoxicating gasoline fumes, it was pleasant nonetheless.

METALLIC CARS

The tinny, clean scent of metal, toy-friction cars isn't quite as rich as the smell of a new car but for a child it added to the play experience.

HAIRSPRAY

The smell of Mom's hairspray, spreading out of the bathroom like a fog, meant she and Dad were going out somewhere. It was somewhat choking and it made sense a few years later when cans of hairspray were cited for playing a role in depleting the ozone layer.

ARTS AND CRAFTS

The white paste used in school to make arts and crafts served the same purpose as glue but it was thicker. There was a sweetness to its scent which is probably why so many kindergartners tried to eat it. Many years later when I was visiting England clotted cream brought to mind this paste.

IN ADDITION TO ASBESTOS ...

Chalk dust invaded my nostrils whenever I was called upon to do math problems on the blackboard at school, and even more so when I was assigned eraser-cleaning duty.

GOOD ENOUGH TO EAT

Play-Dough had a plastic feel and it's fragrant scent and candy-like colors (not unlike Starburst chews) made it very tempting to eat (which my have been the inspiration for 'Incredible Edibles').

PUT A RING ON IT

Lightning bugs (aka fireflies) emitted a somewhat plant-like scent, especially strong when we kids would pull out their little lights and put them on our fingers to sport as rings.

WET & STEAMY SIDEWALKS

The streets and sidewalks after a summer thunderstorm had a scent that was created from a mix of heat, soaked sidewalks, and the scent of earthworms that would appear, then often crushed by car tires or the feet of us marauding kids.

POLLEN-LADEN TREES

The smell of tree pollen in the morning when I delivered papers is the only scent that I still encounter forty years later and 300 miles away from my hometown. And speaking of being a paperboy, the smell of newsprint that wafted up from my paper delivery bag had the power to make my eyes sting and water.

SUBURBAN TRASH

Back in the 1960s every family burned their trash out in the open in their backyards, usually in the evening and the air would take on the smell of smoke.

SUGAR-DUSTED PINK GUM

The stiff, pink-colored stick of gum found in a pack of baseball cards had a sugary scent that called out to you even if it was the cards that were of primary interest.

BEAUTY SECRETS OF MY YOUTH

On very cold days, before I left the house to go to school, my mother would rub fragrant Ponds cold cream on my cheeks and forehead to prevent my face from becoming chapped. As she applied it she'd refer to a place called Canada, a land where the cold air originated.

THE SANDBOX

The smell of sand in my sandbox, either dry or wet, had a distinctive scent. Since we lived far from the ocean, and didn't take beach vacations, it was my only regular contact with sand until I was an adult.

VAPO-RUB = MOM'S LOVE

I associate Vicks VapoRub with having a sore throat and the tender loving care my mother would provide. She'd prepare an old t-shirt used multiple times for the same purpose by smearing it with VapoRub and then waving it over the open flame on the stove to heat it and then wrap it around my neck.

POLLUTED SKIES

By the 1960s and '70s the air was considerably cleaner in Pittsburgh but some factories still pumped out pollutants under cover of night. Our neighborhood sat on a bluff overlooking the Ohio River and Neville Island (below), which was home to steel mills, steel fabricating plants (my father worked at one) and chemical factories. They regularly released smoke into the air that had a distinct chemical smell and was full of particulates. Often we'd wake up in the morning to find fine particles of dust and slivers of metal in the bathtub and on cars.

COWBOYS & INDIANS

The silver metallic toy guns we had for playing 'Cowboys and Indians' had a chamber where you could put "caps", a string of tiny dots that contained something like gun powder. Safe, mini-explosions were created by a metal mechanism that would slam against the cap when the trigger was pulled. But you didn't need a gun to activate the caps; you could also make the dots explode by striking them with a rock. Afterwards the air would smell of gunpowder.

As an adult who is six feet tall I often think that if a foot of snow seems like a lot to me just imagine what it seems to a child who is two or three feet shorter (or to a toddler, like me in the photo during the winter of 1960). Which brings back memories of some of the big snowstorms of my childhood in the Pittsburgh suburb of McKees Rocks, four of which were around 14 inches and are recounted below.

JANUARY 12-13, 1964 (First Grade)

This storm moved in on Sunday night and continued through the next evening. I remember excitedly turning on the porch light throughout the evening to look out as the snow accumulated on the porch steps. For the entirety of the storm temperatures never got out of the teens.

Nearly 16 inches fell and there was no school on Monday. Then on Tuesday we woke up to a morning low of six below zero. Despite these frigid conditions I was looking forward to going to school because it meant spending a good amount of time to walk through the mountains of snow along the way. (My school, Fenton Elementary, was within walking distance.)

Me (right) with my big brother on our way to school the day after the big snowstorm of Jan. 12-13, 1964

JANUARY 22-23, 1966 (Third Grade)

It was Saturday and me, my brother, sister and mother had our check-up with the dentist that morning. Afterwards we did some grocery shopping at Kroger just as the first flakes of snow began falling at a little past 12:00 noon. When we got home we watched American Bandstand; the Mamas & the Papas were on and they sang Monday Monday and California Dreamin'. Snow fell heaviest between mid-afternoon and midnight and ended shortly after daybreak on Sunday. My brother, Darrell, was allowed to go out and help mom and dad shovel but I had to stay inside because it was too much trouble getting me put together. In total nearly 15 inches fell.

Although it was a Saturday event and didn't impact school, we didn't go to church or Sunday school (a consolation prize). On Sunday morning I got to go out and help shovel out the driveway and I remember how high the snow was and what an effort it was to throw the snow up to the side.

MARCH 6-7, 1967 (Fourth Grade)

It was a Monday and rain in the morning changed to heavy, wet snow in the afternoon (the temperature hovered around freezing). After dark the snow really came down heavily and high winds kicked in - there was even some thunder/lightning. Amazingly, my parents went out shopping and my brother went to his evening trumpet lesson. My older sister and I stayed home and watched I Dream of Jeannie and The Monkees. 14 inches piled up and school was cancelled on Tuesday.

DECEMBER 1-2, 1974 (Senior Year)

Snow fell off and on in heavy bursts during late afternoon on Sunday through the evening and into the overnight hours. The temperature hovered around 33 degrees throughout so it was a heavy, wet snow. I had a morning paper route at the time and it was a challenge walking up some of the driveways that were on an incline because of a coating of freezing rain/sleet that had fallen on top of the snow.

School had a delayed opening but there were no buses operating so most of my classmates didn't come in. (And as he did during the other storms, my dedicated dad drove to his job as a foreman at Pittsburgh-Des Monies Steel Company on Neville Island). Power outages were widespread because so many tree branches, weighed down by 14 inches of wet snow, snapped and brought down power lines.

The next bit snowstorms came in the winter of 1978 when two big ones came within a few days of each other in mid-January and dumped a total of 27 inches. At the time I was in my junior year at Penn State in State College. I've experienced my biggest snowfalls while living in New York City. Between 1983 and 2011 there were seven storms that dumped 18 inches or more, the biggest being 26.9" in February 2006.

The great blizzard of Jan. 7-8, 1996 buried New York under more than 20" of snow.

Tags:
Fenton Elementary School, McKees Rocks Pennsylvania, Pittsburgh Des Monies Steel Company, snowstorm of December 1975 in Pittsburgh, snowstorm of January 1964 in Pittsburgh, snowstorm of January 1966 in Pittsburgh, snowstorm of March 1967 in Pittsburgh

Growing up in the Pittsburgh area in the 1960s and '70s meant that media personalities from KDKA TV/Radio, WTAE and KQV loomed very large in my young life. (And with no cable channels back then their presence was even more ubiquitous.) Here, in alphabetical order, are the names and faces from that era that I remember best. (This is not intended to be a comprehensive list, just the people who made a lasting impression.)

LEE ARTHUR

She rocked the boat as Pittsburgh's first female TV sports announcer, first appearing on KDKA in 1973. Not very knowledgeable about sports, she lasted just two years. She's now in her mid-70s.

JACK BOGUT

Bogut came to Pittsburgh in 1968, working for KDKA Radio. I listened to his show as I got ready for school and still remember his creepy/comical ode to the "Slithery Dee". He's still on the radio, now on WJAS, and I listen to his show whenever I visit my mother. Amazingly, his voice hasn't changed. I'm not certain about his age, but the fact that he was married in 1961 suggests he's in his mid-to-late-70s. (Update: WJAS changed to a Talk format in August 2014 and dropped Bogut.)

CHUCK BRINKMAN

The face/voice of radio station KQV during the 1960s. He vied with KDKA's Clark Race as the city's most popular DJ. Still alive, he's 79 years old.

BILL BURNS

A legend, the Walter Cronkite of Pittsburgh. He anchored the KDKA news for 36 years. All business, Burns had a gruff, Lou Grant type persona and was the consummate professional. He died in 1997 at the age of 84. His daughter Patti also worked for KDKA and was very popular. Sadly, she died of lung cancer in 2001 at the age of 49.

BILL CARDILLE

Best known for hosting Chiller Theaterand Studio Wrestling on Saturdays. His following from Chiller Theater got "Chilly Billy" a small role in Night of the Living Dead (filmed north of Pittsburgh). Interestingly, Cardille is the only person on my list from WIIC-Channel 11 (NBC's Pittsburgh affiliate). Despite undergoing open-heart surgery back in the 1980s, he's still active, with a radio show on WJAS. Amazingly, at the age of 85, his voice sounds as youthful as it was 50 years ago. (Update: WJAS changed to a Talk format in August 2014 and dropped Cardille as well as Jack Bogut; and, sadly, Cardille passed away in the summer of 2016.)

MYRON COPE

Cope possessed the most distinctive/abrasive voice in Pittsburgh broadcasting, if not the nation (even more so than Howard Cosell). He was truly a motormouth, but a beloved one. His proudest achievement was probably the creation of the "Terrible Towel" for the Steelers in the mid-1970s. He died in 2008 at the age of 79.

BILL CURRIE

Currie was the lead sports announcer for KDKA in the 1970s, coming here from North Carolina where he was known as "The Mouth of the South." He wore garish, brightly colored sports jackets often with wild patterns. For me he wore out his welcome rather quickly. He died in 2008 at the age of 85.

JOE DE NARDO

Probably Pittsburgh's most famous meteorologist, De Nardo began his career with KDKA, but is best known for his long career with WTAE from 1969 to 2005. I saw him a number of times shopping at the Kmart near his home in Moon Township. Situated close to the airport, he groused about the planes' flight patterns that brought them over his house. Then shortly after he moved the airport closed and relocated! Still alive, he's 83.

BOB KUDZMA

Although Joe De Nardo may have had a higher profile, Bob Kudzma was my favorite weatherman, serving as KDKA's on-air meteorologist for 34 years (1968-2002). He reminded me of Pat Sajak. I wrote to him for advice about having a career as a meteorologist and he replied. He's now 75.

PAUL LONG

Best known for his time as anchor on WTAE from 1969 until 1994. He was very stern looking, even more so than Bill Burns. Reminded me of Nikita Khruschev (and my Uncle Joe). He died in 2002 at the age of 86.

NICK PERRY

Most famous for a Saturday afternoon bowling show in the 1960s on WTAE (Championship Bowling) and Bowling for Dollarsin the 1970s. (It was a proud day in our neighborhood when our neighbor from across the street appeared on the show and won $500.) Unfortunately, his reputation was tarnished by a state lottery scandal in the 1980s. However, since I was no longer living in Pittsburgh when it happened my memory of him is still as a bowling personality. He died in 2003 at the age of 86.

BOB PRINCE & NELLIE KING

He was the larger-than-life radio/TV play-by-play announcer for the Pittsburgh Pirates until 1975. "Kiss it Good-bye!" was one of his most famous sayings. He died in 1985 at the age of 68. Nellie King was his mild-mannered sidekick from 1967-1975. He died in 2010 at the age of 82.

Nellie King (L) & Bob Prince (R)

JIM QUINN

Popular KQV DJ in the late 60s thru early 70s when he was in his 20s. In the 1990s he went to the dark side and became a conservative talk-radio host. He's now in his early 70s.

CLARK RACE

Clark Race was the Dick Clark of Pittsburgh. He was probably the market's most popular DJ, on KDKA, and also hosted a popular dance show on KDKA-TV that aired on Saturday afternoon; it ran from 1963 until 1966. His show would begin with the intro, "Hello Clark Race, hello - and welcome to the show!", which was followed by the instrumental String of Trumpets. He died in 1999 at the age of 66.

ELEANOR SCHANO

Her signature blonde coif gave her a very glamorous persona. I remember her best for doing the weather during WTAE's evening news in the late 60s, but she was a constant TV presence with various reporting roles. Still alive, she's 81 years old.

ED SCHAUGHENCY

Avuncular KDKA radio personality who was lovingly called "Uncle Ed". He had already clocked many years with the station when I listened to him give the weather report in the morning while I was getting ready for school. Often mentioned his wife Gertrude. I also recall that he used to promote Pappin's restaurant. He died in 1990 at the age of 77.

PAUL SHANNON

Host of the children's show Adventure Timewhich aired weekday afternoons at 4:00 on WTAE. He sat among the kids as Dick Clark did on American Bandstand. Famous for the characters Nosmo King and Knish. He'd introduce cartoons and shorts by The Three Stooges with the line, "So down goes the curtain - and back up again." He died in 1990 at the age of 80.

DICK STOCKTON

Before he went over to the "network" side Dick Stockton was KDKA TV's sports director from 1967-1971 when he was only in his his 20s. There was something in his demeanor that suggested that bigger things were in store for him. He's now 71.

MARIE TORRE

With her New York pedigree, she was the grand dame of Pittsburgh television. She was with KDKA from 1962 until 1977. In my youthful mind she and Bill Burns were the First Couple of Pittsburgh. Her claim to fame was going to jail for 10 days for refusing to reveal one her sources when she was a newspaper reporter in New York in the 1950s. She had a charming, sophisticated laugh that brought to mind Kitty Carlyle or Arlene Francis. She died in 1997 at the age of 73.

RICKI WERTZ

I remember her best for hosting Jr. High Quizwhich aired on Sunday on WTAE from 1965-1982. I always wanted to be on that show but our school district (Sto-Rox) wasn't chosen in the years I was in high school. Before the quiz show she was known for hosting the Ricki & Copper Show, which starred her dog Copper. What I remember best about the show was the Hostess cupcakes she handed out to kids in the audience who were celebrating their birthdays. (Although this show and Adventure Time had a live studio audience of kids I never had a desire to be on either.) Still alive, she's 79 years old.

Not only newspapers but the boys and girls who deliver them are a dying breed. When I was in high school, between 1972 and 1975, I was a morning paper boy, delivering the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Before I was offered the opportunity I couldn't fathom why anyone would want to get up so early in the morning to do this job. Yet there I was getting up with my father at 5:30 when he was getting ready for work. Perhaps I was motivated because my route manager, Mr. Grega, was also my geometry teacher. (I always thought that this relationship helped me with my grades in his class.)

I had 35 customers whose homes were scattered over a six-block area; it took me about an hour to complete my route. (About 1/4 of the houses in the neighborhood subscribed; the afternoon Pittsburgh Press was more popular.) Each customer had a particular place they wanted their paper placed. Some liked it inside the screen door, others under the welcome mat, or in the holder under the mailbox, or inside their milk box. (Nowadays my mother's paper is delivered by an adult in a car and they rarely put it on her porch since they throw it from the car window.)

When I got to the last house on my route I hoped I had no papers left in my bag, otherwise it meant I probably forgot someone - which rarely happened. When I returned home I'd go back to bed for an hour before getting up for school.

We lived in a suburban neighborhood (10 miles northwest of downtown Pittsburgh) that was surrounded by woods, but despite the early hour my parents never expressed any concerns about my safety - nor was I worried. That's the way things were back then. The only danger I encountered was an occasional snarling dog. (For such encounters I carried a few rocks in the canvas bag hanging around my neck.)

For me, the worst time of year was September and October when the first cold mornings arrived. Luckily the winters during the three years I delivered weren't severe and no mornings had sub-zero temperatures. (After I stopped delivering, the next four winters were particularly harsh.) The biggest snow occurred the first Monday of Dec. 1974 when 14 inches of snow fell, making it very difficult walking up my customers' sloped driveways. And my route manager delivered the papers to me late.

Because the papers were literally hot off the press the newsprint easily came off onto my hands and gloves. Also, the fumes from the newsprint would cause my eyes to sting and tear, much like how pollen would do the same. And speaking of pollen, to this day I still remember the thick scent of tree pollen that hung in the morning air in late May and June.

Despite having a larger circulation, the Pittsburgh Press (now defunct) didn't publish on holidays, so I had twice as many customers on those days. I'd load the papers into my wagon rather than use my paper bag (sometimes my brother would drive me around.) Not only were there more papers to deliver, but the papers were much thicker because of advertising inserts touting holiday sales.

One of the most traumatic experiences during my years of delivering papers occurred the morning of January 1, 1973. As I was getting ready for that morning's deliveries I turned on the radio in the kitchen and heard the shocking news that Roberto Clemente of the Pirates had been killed in a plane crash. I walked my route in a daze. The craziest thing that happened to me while delivering was being asked to get a crow out of a house after it had fallen down the chimney.

I delivered papers until the week before I went away to college (Penn State). After returning from my senior prom, I went to bed for a few hours and then got up to deliver the paper. That summer between high school and college (gap months?) I'd deliver the paper and then go to my summer job on the road maintenance crew in my town, digging ditches, weed whacking and taking trips to the local dump.

This was my first job. It was a great way to learn responsibility and gain experience with money management. Each customer paid between 60 and 75 cents each week, and I'd usually get tips that ranged between fifteen cents and a quarter (today, adjusted for inflation, that would be between 75 cents and a dollar). I never really enjoyed collecting, which I did on Saturday afternoons, because not everyone was home so it required a number of visits. The son of one of my customers was Tom Clements, who at the time was the starting quarterback for Notre Dame, and he occasionally answered the door when I collected. Collecting during Christmas was better because of the tips, which were usually around five dollars.

I was beginning my sophomore year at Penn State when the song Rich Girl by Hall & Oates became popular. I was taken aback that a mainstream song used the word "bitch" in it - which probably enhanced its appeal. However, it wasn't used as a derogatory term towards women (that would come 20 years later with the advent of gangsta rap). The song slowly climbed the charts during the fall and winter and reached the top of Billboard's Hot 100 at the end of March 1977. It has the distinction of being the first #1 song to use the word "bitch" in its lyrics.

I marveled that the song received air play. It followed by three years Elton John's The Bitch is Back, which was the first top-10 song to use the word "bitch" in its title (peaking at #4). 17 years later, Stevie Nicks released a greatest hits album titled TimeSpace, which included a new song, Sometime It's a Bitch. However, it didn't achieve nearly the popularity of The Bitch is Back, failing to crack the top 40. And like the others, the word "bitch" wasn't referring to a woman (or a dog).

Before Elton, H&O or Stevie Nicks, the Rolling Stones released the album Sticky Fingers in 1971, and one of the songs on it was titled Bitch. I was a teenager at the time and I remember being in the car with my parents when the song came on and I was absolutely shocked at hearing the word. Being a somewhat sheltered kid, this was a mind-blowing experience; I was surprised my parents didn't switch stations, but perhaps they weren't listening very closely.

After the success of Rich Girl, Hall & Oates went through a fallow period that lasted three years. Then in 1980 they became a true charts powerhouse, charting a dozen songs in the top 10 over the next four years. Then it was they who became rich (boys).

Tags:
Bitch by the Rolling Stones, Hall & Oates, Hall & Oates first #1 song, Rich Girl by Hall & Oates, Sometimes It's a Bitch by Stevie Nicks, songs with the word bitch in it, The Bitch is Back by Elton John